


Feeling Gravity

by Cousin Shelley (CousinShelley)



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Drinking, M/M, Missing Scene, Post Episode s03e10 Night in Question, Temporary Amnesia, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinShelley/pseuds/Cousin%20Shelley
Summary: Nick's regained memories give him a new perspective.
Relationships: Nicholas Knight/Lucien LaCroix
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Rare Pairs Exchange 2020





	Feeling Gravity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).



_Here you are feeling gravity_   
_in your shoulders and the ache_   
_deep inside, reminding you that life_   
_all comes down to this:_   
_it’s not what you have known,_   
_but what you have forgotten._

—From “A Loss of Memory” by James Langlas

Nick’s memories came back while he was asleep. He didn’t dream anything unusual or wake with a start. He didn’t know if the last of his brain cells had fully healed five minutes after he’d stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes or seconds before he woke. 

He simply sat up, himself again.

Maybe he’d only missed out on the kind of reaction he’d seen in movies when amnesiacs remembered their lives because he'd been asleep. Or more likely, the typical reality of regaining one’s memory lacked the drama necessary for good entertainment. Everything was just _back,_ no fireworks, no fanfare. As anticlimactic as it seemed, he'd take it. 

It was a relief to look at the art on his walls and shelves and once again remember how he’d acquired each piece. That knowledge was there, along with the sights, sounds and smells of each dig or discovery, each auction, each graciously offered gift. He easily recalled the feelings of satisfaction each time he brought something home. 

_Home_. His loft hadn't felt like home when he'd looked around and known that every piece of art, piece of furniture, even the coffee under the sink had a story behind it that he hadn't been part of. He'd felt like a guest in a stranger's house since he'd left the hospital. But now he didn’t have to think about the stories LaCroix or Natalie had told him and try to remember them, or maybe remember something more. 

Nick stood. The only thing out of the ordinary was a hunger more intense than usual: a clear sign that his body had been hard at work making him whole again. 

When he was halfway to the refrigerator, the loft tilted beneath his feet. Nick doubled over, gasping, his vision darkening around the edges. He barely managed to throw himself into a kitchen chair rather than hit the floor. His elbows ground into the table to anchor him and keep him from tumbling over. 

When the vertigo eased, he focused on slowing his panting breaths and forcing his hands to stop shaking. Several minutes passed before he could sit upright comfortably, one hand on the tabletop. 

Okay, maybe it hadn't been _completely_ anticlimactic, but the movies still had it wrong. It wasn't an overwhelming number of memories or the realization of who he was slamming back that had upended him. The shock to his system had hit when he realized he might have lived out his life, might have lived for eternity, without remembering any of it.

His entire identity, his history, memories of people he’d loved. He would never have missed those things, but now faced with the thought that they’d been ripped away from him, and how that could have lasted forever, his hands shook harder.

_So hungry._

He stumbled to the refrigerator and back to the chair, and had to hold the bottle with both hands to uncork it with his teeth. He didn’t bother with a glass—he couldn’t have aimed that well. But he did manage to get the nearly full bottle to his lips, still using both trembling hands, and got most of the blood into his mouth. 

Some dripped onto the table. He swatted at it with his hand, smearing it until it was gone. Too late, he realized it was a bottle LaCroix had brought him and not one of his own. He'd drank from it once before he understood what he was and Natalie had explained why he'd survived on cow's blood for years. 

He lifted the bottle and gulped several mouthfuls. He’d forgotten how satisfying human blood could be, at least until you needed more. 

He’d forgotten so many things. 

His phone rang, and he regretted not setting his answering machine to pick up immediately. If it was Nat and he didn’t answer, she’d come over. Ordinarily he’d welcome that, but his hands still shook. He wasn’t ready to try to explain why, not to her. That was a conversation for later, if it couldn’t be avoided completely. 

Steadier than before, he made his way to the phone. He dropped heavily onto the couch, glad Nat wasn’t here to see. “Knight,” he said, cringing at how hoarse he sounded. 

“Did I wake you?” Nat’s voice seemed falsely chipper, like she sensed his mood and was ready to counter it. God, he loved her. A fresh wave of guilt washed over him for that and other things.

He cleared his throat. “No, I was up. And Nat . . . I have good news.”

“You’re taking us on a long vacation to Acapulco? The Bahamas, maybe?”

He chuckled. “Not quite that good. I should be able to come back to work now.”

Natalie made a skeptical sound. “But I thought the testing was going to take at least a few more weeks? Nick, if you come back too soon and have forgotten something you don’t _know_ you’ve forgotten, you could—”

“I remember, Nat. I'm back.”

Her voice wobbled. “You remember _everything_?”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “I’m me again. For better or worse, I guess.”

She sobbed, then broke out into a watery laugh. “That’s fantastic. This is . . . this is just . . .” A few sniffs and throat-clearings later, Natalie had herself under control. “Have you told Reese or Tracy?”

“You’re the first. Of course.”

She laughed at that. “I took the night shift tonight to get us caught up, but if you want some company I could be a little late. I feel like this calls for some kind of celebration.”

“Don’t be late. We can celebrate your next night off, and you can crash wherever you fall asleep.”

“I’m off in two days, and your couch _is_ pretty comfy. Deal! Old movies, your usual, wine and cake for me. _Lots_ of cake. Perfect excuse to indulge. How often does your best friend regain his memories?” The joy in her voice warmed him, and he was glad he hadn’t turned the machine on auto pickup. “I’m so happy, Nick. So happy you’re back.”

“Me too. See you soon.”

He looked forward to their night of movies and Nat laughing and claiming that desserts had no calories if you ate them while with a friend. He didn’t look forward to their conversation taking a more serious turn, as it would, but things would work out. Things always did between him and Nat. 

As much as he’d enjoy her company in a couple of days, Nick was relieved she had to handle a backup at the morgue. He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt her feelings by asking her not to come over and lying about the reasons. 

The person he needed to talk to, the one he most needed to see tonight, was LaCroix. 

Nick pulled his shirt off on the way to the bathroom and frowned at the blood he’d dribbled down the front of it. While he showered, he rolled over all the things LaCroix had told him about his life and how strange it seemed that he’d accepted them but never felt any of it was real.

_You are extraordinary. You’re a killer._

Nothing LaCroix told him was a lie, but he’d emphasized certain things and omitted others, always pushing Nick in the direction LaCroix had wanted him to travel for years. 

_Well, if you don’t believe me, why don’t you go outside and rediscover yourself, for yourself?_

He’d focused on the blood, the thrill of the hunt, their companionship and the way Nick had embraced his new family in the beginning, always trying to entice him back.

Nick pressed his hands against the shower wall and let the spray run down his face. Nat had done exactly the same thing. She hadn’t even fed him the useful lie that he was allergic to sunlight to keep him indoors, and he’d nearly died running from the dawn because of it. She’d given him carefully curated details, all meant to lead him toward becoming human again. 

He didn’t blame her. She’d been trying to help. But in his way, hadn’t LaCroix been trying to help him, too? Nat believed she did what Nick wanted. LaCroix believed he did what Nick _truly_ wanted but couldn’t admit to himself. 

And he’d been doing that for hundreds of years. 

As Nick dressed he licked his lips, the faint taste of human blood making him ache for more. 

Even without his memory, he’d known there was something different about LaCroix when he’d appeared in Nick’s loft, wine bottle in hand. Nick had sensed something between them just as LaCroix said, but all of the rest of it seemed like someone else’s life. How he was a Crusader, how Janette had brought him to LaCroix, being brought across, being a killer, being their lover. All that, and all that Nat had told him about their friendship, had felt like someone else’s life he’d been shoved into. He’d been an imposter stumbling through the motions hoping not to misstep too noticeably. 

Flashes, moments he truly remembered, seemed disjointed and thin as if he only remembered them because someone had shown him a photograph and explained what it meant. That feeling of play-acting in his own life now felt like a fever dream, and the thought that he could have lost it all for good, for eternity, set his hands shaking again. 

Only one thing would fix that.

Dressed and ready to leave, he stood in front of a window and let himself reach, let his thoughts spin out through the dark. Even with a city between them, Nick could feel LaCroix’ existence as a comfort that calmed him, almost as a warm spot in a desert of ice. His trembling eased. He thought of LaCroix teaching him to reach out and sense his presence, and how triumphant they’d both been when he’d done it and their minds and whatever might pass for their souls had touched. 

The air in the loft rippled, and Nick’s sense of comfort deepened. 

“Nicholas?” LaCroix brought no wine bottle this time, and his stance was on guard, ready for a challenge. He wore his typical black, and a concerned frown. He’d sensed something, and here he was. Predictable. Reliable. Comfortable in a way it hadn’t been for Nick for how many decades? How many centuries?

“LaCroix. I was about to come see you.” His voice was stronger than it had been when he talked to Nat. He sounded _right_ again. 

LaCroix visibly relaxed. His frown disappeared, replaced by raised eyebrows and the tiniest smile. “Oh.”

Nick nodded. 

“Welcome back, Nicholas. Again.” He glanced around the loft, gaze pausing on the bottle still uncorked on the kitchen table. “And you’re celebrating your recovery by, what’s the phrase, hitting the good stuff?”

“Don’t look so delighted.” Nick got a glass out of the cabinet, poured it—without spilling any, he was happy to note—and handed it to LaCroix. “I forgot. Ironically.”

“Indeed.” LaCroix took a sip and closed his eyes to savor it. “If you’d been drinking this, or directly from the tap, so to speak, you would have no doubt healed long before now.”

“As you’ve told me, so very many times.” 

“I was trying to help you.”

“I know. And I want to thank you.”

LaCroix cocked one eyebrow and drew the corners of his mouth down. “You’re very welcome, Nicholas.” 

“You seem skeptical.”

“That you’re thanking me?” He tilted his head to the side. “I thought your recent gratitude might disappear when you finally remembered . . . everything. Typically when I try to help you, you react poorly.”

“Because your brand of helping usually involves destroying something.”

LaCroix’ spine straightened. “Is that why you were coming to see me, Nicholas? To point out how dreadful I am?”

“No!” They fell so easily into this familiar pattern, a rut Nick didn’t want to be stuck in anymore. He raked his fingers through his hair and paced the length of the couch. He had to look somewhere other than LaCroix so he could think about what he was saying. “I was coming tell you how glad I am that I’ve remembered. I went to bed knowing I was a vampire and why, and all the details about my life that you filled in for me, but I _wasn’t_ me. None of it _felt_ like me. But when I woke up a little while ago, I didn’t have to try to make sense of anything. No struggle, no putting pieces together. I was myself again.”

LaCroix put his glass on the table. “And that pleases me no end.” 

Nick faced him. “You don’t sound pleased.”

“Don’t I?” He clasped his hands together. “I suppose it is bittersweet, Nicholas. I’m happy that you’ve remembered yourself and our history together, but part of that is remembering the ways in which you hate me, and things I may regret but cannot change now. As disturbed as I was to see you so uncertain of yourself, it _was_ refreshing to have you come to me for answers as often as you did without those old grudges getting in the way.”

“I don’t hate you.” Nick stared at him while he spoke. “Maybe I have, at times. But I don’t now. I haven’t for a long time. Those grudges are in the past, and that’s where I’d like them to stay.”

"I _am_ pleased to hear that, Nicholas."

He turned away before LaCroix could say anything else. “When I woke with my memory intact and thought about what it had been like to forget you and everything we’d experienced together, all I felt was despair. A hundred years ago if you’d told me I’d feel that way, I don’t think I’d have believed it. Maybe not one year ago. But it’s true.”

He gripped his slightly shaking left hand and squeezed, hoping to still it. “With every memory I might have been relieved to say goodbye to, there were dozens I wanted to keep. Happy memories it hurts me to realize I didn’t have for a little while.”

“Happy memories?” 

“The first time I sensed you when we were separated in the tunnels. The first time I sensed Janette. Flying for the first time, and how you looked at me afterward, so proud and pleased that I'd finally managed it with even the tiniest amount of grace.”

LaCroix made an oddly light sound, almost a chuckle. "You _were_ prone to clipping the tops of trees for the longest time."

Nick rubbed his hands together and laughed. “And silly things I hadn’t thought about in years, like how Janette and I could recognize when we’d really messed up and it was best to give you some time away from us.”

LaCroix’ expression was as relaxed and open as Nick remembered seeing it in years, his tiny, genuine smile almost unbearably touching. “How so?”

“Despite the many languages you speak, all the curse words available to you—and I think we heard them all—when you were truly incensed you always resorted to yelling in Latin.” Nick laughed at the memory. “With the occasional Greek thrown in.”

LaCroix laughed, his smile broadening. “You were wise to notice.”

“It always took longer to get back into your good graces after a day like that.” Nick shook his head. “But we always managed. Do you remember the oil portrait Janette painted for you? You rode a horse, prepared for battle. It was after one of those days, if I recall. A peace offering.”

“Her technique needed a little refining, but her passion and talent shone through.” LaCroix’ smile softened as he blinked and seemed to focus on Nick’s chest. “It’s no wonder I forgot whatever I was angry about. I have it still, prized among my possessions.”

Nick ached with her loss, feeling it more keenly than he ever had. He wished she could be here, laughing with them, teasing them the way she used to. "I miss her."

“Yes. As do I.” LaCroix inhaled sharply and straightened his posture. “I wish it could always be like this between us, Nicholas. Pleasant reminiscing. Good memories of past happiness.”

“That’s what I was coming to talk to you about." Nick stepped closer and pressed a hand against LaCroix’ chest. "I want that, too.”

LaCroix’ lips parted. He put his hand over Nick’s on his chest. Before he could speak, Nick continued. 

“I’ve spent so many years trying to forget, trying to keep you out of my life. And it happened. I forgot you. I forgot everything. When I woke, the gravity of that loss was like a-a crater had been blown into my life and I’d barely escaped the blast. Everything I am, LaCroix, is wrapped up in you. Losing that, losing everything we’d experienced together, even so temporarily, was devastating. I don’t want to feel that absence ever again.”

Nick laughed, not without a little bitterness. “I think of how you’ve refused to let me go and kept trying to bring me back, how angry it made me. But I think I understand a little better how you must have felt.”

LaCroix’ fingers wrapped tightly around Nick’s hand. He spoke softly, slowly, his gaze never wavering. “I felt exactly as you’ve just . . . so beautifully described. Like I would lose a part of myself. Perhaps the most precious part.”

They stared into each other’s eyes, but not in some kind of a challenge to get the other to flinch as they'd done so often. Instead, they basked in each other's scrutiny. LaCroix cupped the back of Nick’s neck, still holding tight to the hand on his chest. “I am sorry for the things I’ve done that injured you. Even the ones I’d likely do again if I deemed them necessary.”

Nick scoffed, but then smiled. “I know.”

“Perhaps I can do better going forward?”

“I’m not going to push you away anymore, so I have no doubt of that.”

This intimacy and ease with each other was familiar yet strange, like a faded photograph of a cherished moment dug out of a box after a hundred years. It had been so long since they'd been this close to each other without one wanting to strike out. Nick leaned forward, and as if it were the most natural and practiced thing in the world, LaCroix pulled him close. 

Nick’s arms went around him as they embraced, full-bodied, tighter than a human could tolerate. A sense of belonging, of being part of a whole, rushed back into places he hadn’t allowed it to occupy in centuries. He let it fill him up, and LaCroix’ embrace tightened. 

Nick pressed his lips against LaCroix’ neck. LaCroix yanked Nick's collar to the side, his top buttons popping free, to bare much of his shoulder.

“You do surprise me sometimes, Nicholas,” he whispered against Nick’s skin. “But then you always have.”

Nick felt the ache of want, of a desire he’d denied for so long, and with it the burn of renewed hunger. The points of his teeth scratched his lower lip, and his own blood tasted sweet. He mouthed at LaCroix’ neck. 

“Nicholas,” LaCroix hissed, his fangs filling his mouth and making the word sound like the sweetest endearment Nick had ever heard. “How I have missed the ecstasy of sharing each other in this way. The _joy_.”

“It’s been so long, I barely remember it.” Nick dragged his lips against the skin beneath LaCroix’ ear. He traced a path down with his tongue, and when LaCroix’ fangs pierced him, he breathed, “Remind me.”

Nick kissed LaCroix’ throat and drank, letting the pleasant ache of want wash over him, the singing in his veins like truly coming home. 


End file.
